Vietnam Experimental
by LoverBoi2000
Summary: WARNING: THIS HAS A LOT OF BAD STUFF One night I just decided to write this for some reason. I'm pretty proud of the final thing. It's two one-shots dealing with a characterization of a rural Percy in the Vietnam War. Really random.


**_WARNING: CURSING, RACIST SLURS, AND RACIST THEMES VERY PRESENT_**

 ** _I don't know why I wrote this, but I know I really enjoyed the finished project, even though it sounds really racist. Please know that the views of the narrator do not reflect the views of the_**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own PJO or HOO.**

 _We fight because we must fight if we are to live in a world where every country can shape its own destiny. And only in such a world will our own freedom be finally secure._

 _We fight because we must fight if we are to live in a world where every country can shape its own destiny and only in such a world will our own freedom be finally secure_

 _Wefightbecausewemustfightifwearetliveinaworldwhereeverycountrycanshapeitsowndestinyandonlyinsuchaworldwillourownfreedombefinallysecure_

 _We fight_

 _Our own freedom_

 _Be finally secure_

 _finally secure_

 _secure_

The mud was as thick as molasses, and the color as brown as the shit meltin, camouflaged, into the mud some couple-thousand yards back. Mosquitoes conversed on where they was to attack with uninterpretable buzzin, launchin sneak attacks against the much larger enemy. Waist-high grass tried to hide its occupants, but failed like a poor paint over an un-sanded wood.

The heat was the real enemy, however, because the heat was the real power. The heat hated them. The heat hated everyone, really. But the heat hated them. It really fuckin did. It was as hot as puttin your hand in the oven after mama made her delicious choco chip cookies. But instead of puttin your hand in the oven, and yankin it out because you realized you was a dumb little young shit, you put your whole body in the oven and then sat there.

The heat and the mud and the mosquitos and the fuckin chinks, all them fuckers were out for him, and he fuckin knew it, which is why he kept his God-forsaken helmet on and his gun above his head because he was going to fuckin kill those fuckers the next fuckin chance he got because he was so fuckin annoyed and he wanted to fuckin kill somethin, preferably a fuckin Charlie bastard or one of his fuckin whore women.

Chewin tobacco ground beneath his teeth like a pound of chamomile being ground down into a gram of tea. It was the only thin he could kill now, so he killed it as good as dead. They hadn't seen no Charlie for three days, but he reckond one them chinks they saw back there a day ago had been no good sons-of-bitches that he should'f let his boys put bullets through.

Charlie himself tripped on a rotting log, nearly losing his gun. "You all right?"

Steadyin himself, the big negro pushed his helmet back into place, the soft brown of the mud contrasten oddly with the rough brown of Charlie's skin. One might'f thought that, from his earlier rantin, that he hated negros. He ain't had no hatred of the negros in him, for all it was worth. After all, no negro ever shot at him or took away his food. Nah, the negros back at home had been shot at too many times for him. The poor bastards never really got a good shot in, other than that Martin Luther negro. He only hated the fucking chink Charlies that shot him and his boys and he could never get a shot back at unless they shot at him first cause he had to worry about fuckin war crimes. War crimes his ass, he fuckin wanted to live.

"Yeah, Ehm good. The fuck places a log in de middle of a fucken marsh?" Charlie was a funny guy, hailin from the "Great State of New Yawk," where apparently the only word he picked up to be sayin in New York style was "Yawk." He himself was from Mississippi, but he ain't no fuckin George Wallace. He ain't known how they got to Mississippi, but they got there someway or u-nother. He himself was apparently Greek, but it was of no concern to him. What was of concern to him was how the fuck they was gonna navigate out of this marsh to some place the he-low could land and pick them the fuck up.

Percy chuckled at Charlie's comment. "Eh, the fuckin chinks, that's who."

"Man, fuck the chinks. Those niggers need to go shove a stick of dynamite up them's asses."

"Here, here," chanted the men.

The mud got less and less thick, but more like spreadin out molasses out over a field ruther than fillin the tub with more water. The marsh was dryin out into a grassland. The _thud-thud-thud_ of he-low blades penetrated the heavy air, and Percy smiled, chewin his tobacco loudly for the whole fuckin chink country to hear.

 _And some 400 young men, born into an America that is bursting with opportunity and promise, have ended their lives on Viet-Nam's steaming soil._

 _And some 400 young men born into an America that is bursting with opportunity and promise have ended their lives on Viet Nams steaming soil_

 _Andsome400youngmenbornintoanAmericathatisburstingwithopportunityandpromisehaveendedtheirlivesonVietNamssteamingsoil_

 _Young men_

 _America_

 _Busrting with opportunity and promise_

 _opportunity and promise_

 _promise_

"Baby, I don't want you to go," said Annabeth Jackson as she traced her finger up her husband's well-kept chest.

"I don't wanna go either baby, I don't wanna leave you, but I ain't makin the decisions. We gotta go, because that's what we do." Perseus Jackson responded with just as much concern and care as he had received from his worried wife, kissing her forehead.

"That doesn't make it better. I know what he's up to, I don't want to lose you to some stupid war that we don't need to worry about." Percy just laughed at that.

"I'm going to miss your smarts, baby. I love hearin you talk about thins that I don't understand." Annabeth sat up in bed, folding her arms over her chest.

"You're not making this easier."

"Annabeth…" Percy said, leaning over to hug his wife. She refused. "I ain't gonna forget you. You are mine, and I don't wanna lose you no more."

"I'm not worried about you forgetting me, damnit! I'm worried that you're going to come home in a fucking casket!"

Percy moved over to pin down his wife underneath him. "Imma be alright, and Imma promise you that. And I'll promise you that tomorra too, but right now I wanna make love to you because I ain't got more than one night left with you, and I wanna make it count."

Her hands came up to cup his beautiful face. "You promise me?"

"I promise you a million-a-times over, and I'll promise a million-a-times over again if I have to take make you believe that I ain't gonna leave you, for u-nother girl or for the next life." His head dipped down to make contact with his wife's lips, capturing them in his own in that symbolic ritual that once meant babymaking but now meant something much more emotional.

"I love you, Annabeth Jackson, and I ain't nevah gonna stop lovin you."

 _Wish this were not so_

 _The world as it is_

 _world as it is_

 _as it is_

 _it is_

 _Wewishthiswerenotsobutwemustdealwiththeworldasitisifitisevertobeaswewish_

 _We wish this were not so but we must deal with the world as it is if it is ever to be as we wish_

 _We wish this were not so. But we must deal with the world as it is, if it is ever to be as we wish._


End file.
